


Countdown

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Visiting Hours [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise visitor has the Joker feeling as if he's stumbled upon an early Christmas present- even more so when he gets under the wrapping and realizes exactly who that present is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

The chair was cold metal and hard beneath his ass- one that still had a slight ache from two nights prior. Smirking, the Joker leaned back, staring at the sealed door in front of him, separated by a metal table, another chair, and a few feet of tiled floor. He hadn’t expected to be pulled from solitary early- in fact, they had threatened to leave him in there longer when they discovered that _he_ had torn through his straight jacket.

But then that morning they’d come sauntering in, dragging him out and trying to clean him up. They’d given him possibly the coldest shower of his life- the goosebumps had felt like needles, the water like a hammer- and thrown him in the little visiting cell. His hair was still damp, and he’d slicked those curls back, wishing he had something for his face. He _hated_ being seen without his face on.

They hadn’t told him _who_ his visitor was, and as he sat in the uncomfortable metal chair- aware of the broken skin and bruises still healing on his ass- he tried to run down the possibilities.

_The cops, perhaps- oh, what do they think I have done now? Did I leave a bomb somewhere that I’d forgotten of? No no no, not me. Ah, but they wouldn’t clean me up this much for the cops- they’d like to see me destitute. The Commissioner, why he’s such a right-eous man, he wouldn’t want to see anyone treated the way they treat us here._ He tapped his chin in thought. _No no no, still not right. Bats? Ah, but no, it’s still daylight, he must be in his cave. And he wouldn’t announce it. Ah, I do hope Batsy comes back to play soon- these bruises won’t last for-ever._

He jerked his head up when the door suddenly open. His first sight was the white coat, then the blonde hair, the pretty pale pink lips. One of this doctors- oh what was her name, Qui...Qui...

_Quinzel_. He smirked. Funny thing, she was. So stern, except those eyes- they looked at him fascinated, roved over him in ways he was sure would be frowned upon by the board. Oh yes, she had one of those minds he could mold like putty, he was sure. He had charm under that pale skin, when he chose to use it.

He’d remember her, when the time came for him to get himself back on the streets.

“Remember Mr. Wayne, this man is highly unstable,” she was saying, tapping her pen on a clip board. “You get twenty minutes- twice what we give even the cops. Guards are down the hall, but don’t rely on them too much. They’re just as afraid of him as anyone else. Did they tell you what he did to the orderly a few days ago?”

“Bit her,” came a silky smooth voice, one that had the Joker tilting his head to listen. “Didn’t seem too out of the ordinary-“

“Yes, bit her. He was about to gauge her eyes out with her pen as well when the guards got in. He was babbling about her lips.” She tapped the clipboard again. “Twenty minutes. You’re lucky your money pulls so much weight in this city- though I’m not sure why you’d want to come see _him_.” She shot a look at the Joker, eyes saying she could think of a few reasons anyone would want to see him.

Oh yes, he had a ticket out if the Bat didn’t give him reason to stay- but the Joker was hoping for another visit, perhaps a pattern. He’d endure a little more time in Arkham for that.

She stepped back and a man stepped in, just as the door closed. Decent height, he looked as if he was trying to hard to dress casual- jeans and a black sweater with a deep blue button down underneath. His hands were in his pockets casually, and he seemed all too at ease in the cell. Most people would be a jumping pile of nerves locked in a room with the Joker.

The Joker watched him walk over, take a seat across the table. His eyes and hair were dark- silky looking, short but framing a handsome face. The Joker shifted- the man was gorgeous, and it made him want to _play_.

“ _Hellooo_ beautiful,” he said, and the man stayed so serious, leaning forward, folding his hands and resting them on the table. He looked familiar- the Joker was sure he’d seen that face, many times. And what was that about money?

Oh. _Oooh_.

“I’m-“

“Wayne,” the Joker said, “Oh, what was that first name. Brandon? No. Brett? Oh, no no no. Do, ah, _forgive_ me, darling, this place- it does things to the mind.” He shifted, crossed his legs and let one arm flop over the back of the chair as he studied that face, mentally checking one minute off the clock. Nineteen to go- he’d have some fun before this beauty left. “Ah, wait, Bruce! That’s it- Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce smiled, and the Joker felt his gut growing warm. Nice smile- prettier mouth.

“Your memory’s not that bad. But they tell me you remember _everything_ , so I’d expect you’d know me.” The Joker giggled.

“Ah, they debriefed you on me, did they? Hmm, I’d expect no less. But you _do_ have quite the face, Brucie. It’s, ah, rather memorable.” His grin turned into a smirk, eyes darkening, “As is the rest of you.”

Bruce laughed- there was a nervous tinge to it, but it was still a laugh. Was he enjoying the Joker coming onto him? _This could be interesting. I can’t read this one. Seventeen minutes..._

“I’m more interested in what you remember about this place, and not me,” Bruce said. “I’m investing in Arkham- I want to reform it a bit. I thought the best place to start would be meeting a few of it’s lifers, to see how _you_ feel about your home.”

The Joker laughed. The man obviously didn’t know him that well if eh thought he’d be staying here the rest of his life. Oh, no no no no no, he had places to be, things to blow up, Bats to harass.

“Well how _kind_ of you, sugar.” He reached up, pushed back a curl that had escaped into his face. He wished he had something to keep his hair slicked back- Bruce Wayne demanded he look charming, after all.

“How do they treat you?” The Joker waited a moment, thought about the many answers he could give, and ended with the truth, oddly enough.

“Like someone’s forgotten puppy from Christmas. I’d tell you it’s simply because of _who I am_ , dar-ling, but it’s not. Plenty of wackos here get treated like, ah, cattle.” He clicked his tongue. “They don’t look at us as _people_ , Brucie. They look at us like bugs. And who cares if you forget to feed a spider? Who cares if a cockroach is _cold_?”

“You do, it would seem.”

“Ah, I just care because they _lie_ about it. And I hate liars.” He extended his arms out, “They tell you that we’re locked up _nice and tight_ here, that they’re going to keep us criminals off the street, and cure those who might be a bit, ah, _special_ mentally, but that don’t mean it. How many times have I escaped, Brucie? I’m sure my file will tell you- frankly, I’ve forgotten. I can’t count that high.”

A moment passed, silence. _Fifteen minutes_.

“Whatever they do here,” the Joker said, lowering his voice, “is not treatment. It’s _madness_ \- but it’s too organized for me. If they’re going to be _mad_ admit it-“

“Like you-“

“I’m not crazy,” the Joker breathed, slamming his hands down onto the table, glaring at Bruce with those green eyes. “I’m _no-t_. I’m just not numb to everything you people miss.”

“They warned me that your senses-“

“Oh bloody well fuck whatever they warned you about, sugar.” The Joker sneered. “If you listened to that, you wouldn’t _be_ here. Now, let’s be honest, Brucie baby, _why_ are you here? It’s not to talk to little ole me, I can tell you that.” He watched the playboy fidget, grinning because he was right and he’d struck a nerve somewhere. Those dark eyes looked at him, really looked at him, and he felt them tangling in the thing white t-shirt they’d forced on him, just as thin as the black and white striped pants.

_Someone has got to help these people with their fashion._

And in a moment, he knew what Bruce _really_ wanted- even if the man himself wasn’t conscious of it. Smirking, he leaned back again. “Come over here, cupcake, let me get a real look at you at least. Your memory might keep me _company_ at night.” He licked his lips, and much to his amusement, Bruce actually got up and walked around the table. The Joker watched, eyes dancing as he came close- so his leg brushed the Joker’s thigh.

That little jolt was enough.

The madman was fast- faster than he had any right to be. He reached up, grabbed a handful of soft sweater and shirt, yanked Bruce down. The playboy bent over, reaching out with his hands to brace himself- one grabbing the edge of the table, the other actually landing on the Joker’s shoulder- but it didn’t try to push him away.

The Joker leaned up and kissed him, pressed his chilled lips to Bruce’s refreshingly warm mouth. The hand on his shoulder squeezed- but the mouthy yielded to the Joker’s ever moving tongue- which slipped past silky lips and flicked teeth, before tangling with Bruce’s. The playboy whimpered- the last sound the Joker expected to hear, but it drove him positively mad. His other hand reached out, found the curve of Bruce’s back, ran down and gripped onto his ass.

He nipped at Bruce’s lower lip before he pulled his head back, letting the man breathe. He grinned- wicked- and squeezed a handful of flesh.

“I think _that’s_ why you came,” he said. “Pretty girls not enough, Brucie? Like ‘em mad and deranged and locked up? You’re pretty enough that I might just-“

He was cut off when Bruce kissed _him_ , the hand on his shoulder reaching up to brace his neck. Joker’s eyes widened, before he smirked against those lips and pulled Bruce closer, hand moving up so his fingers could play under his sweater and shirt.

_Eleven minutes_.

With nearly half the visit gone, the Joker knew if he wanted some _satisfaction_ he’d have to speed things up. _Pity, I bet you’re a blast when you’re all warmed up Brucie baby_.

He started fumbling with Bruce’s sweater and shirt, pushing it up, revealing a shockingly toned stomach. He broke from the kiss to lean forward- making Bruce straighten up- and kiss the muscles, tongue tracing over a scar. “ _Off_ ,” he hissed, and Bruce was pulling his shirt and sweat off, tossing them onto the table. The room was cold, goosebumps rising on his skin as those scarred hands roamed everywhere, lips and tongue and teeth tasting and loving flesh.

The Joker was nearly purring as he examined him, hands now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. His fingers were shaking- this was just _too good_. He wondered if the big bad Bat would be jealous.

When he finally got those jeans opened, he wasted no time hooking three fingers in them and Bruce;s underwear, pulling them down so his cock could spring free. Bruce’s breath caught as he stared down, dark eyes wide. The Joker licked his lips, before he let that tongue roam over the head of Bruce’s cock, then down along the underside.

Bruce moaned, and the madman knew he had to have him.

_Nine minutes_.

He stood up, roughly turning Bruce and forcing him down against the table. The playboy gave a soft cry- the metal was cold against his sensitive skin. He’d rather be pressed up against the madman- or have him pressed down into this table.

The Joker eyed him for a moment- would have liked to stare longer, but there was such little precious time, and reached out, grasping handfuls of flesh, lips and teeth playing against a handful of flesh. Bruce shivered-

Until he felt that flesh being parted, until he realized he was where he meant the Joker to be. He squirmed, felt hot breath ghosting against his entrance, before a tongue pressed to him. Head jerking up, he started to cry out, before his own arm reached up to muffle his cries.

“Good boy,” the Joker breathed- and god even his breath was maddening. “If you’re loud they’ll come in- and I can’t imagine you want to be found like this, Brucie, with my tongue up your ass.”

If Bruce meant to protest, it was silenced by that hot slick muscle pushing against him- teasing him in a way he had never been teased. By the way he squirmed- both pushing back against the Joker one moment and then triyng to writhe away the next- the clown was sure no one had done this to him. In fact, he was fairly sure a lot hadn’t been done to the playboy.

Such a shame their time was so limited.

_Seven minutes_.

Pulling back, the Joker sucked on a few of his fingers, before pushing one into Bruce- his tongue having eased the tension in that tight muscle ring barely. Bruce did cry out, and though it was muffled, for a moment the Joker did wonder if someone would come running in. Pleased when he didn’t hear footsteps, he moved that finger, quickly adding a second to thrust in and out of Bruce, his other hand squeezing and kneading flesh. Bruce whimpered, tossed his head, pushing up just enough that his cock still lay heavy against the table, leaving a wet smear as it wept with his needed.

The Joker’s hand left that tantalizing flesh and cupped his balls from behind, teased them as he pushed his fingers deeper- before sliding his hand over that cock, giving the sensitive flesh a barrier of skin between it and the table. He teased and stroked as he curled his fingers, finding that spot inside Bruce in just two tries that made his toes curl and his breath escape him.

“Like that, sugar?” He asked, and Bruce gave a soft mewl for a response- a sound that had the Joker suddenly abandoning his cock to try and free his own, body positively livid. He spit in his hand and stroked, letting a few breaths escape him as he ached in his own hand, before he pulled his fingers out of Bruce and placed the head of his cock against that tight entrance instead.

Bruce whimpered again, squirmed away, muttered something that the Joker didn’t understand. He reached out for him, ran his hands down his back, before he leaned over him, whispered into his neck,

“Bite your lip cupcake, it’ll only hurt for a second. Then I promise it’ll be _so good_ you’ll be seeing _staaarrsss_.”

When he pushed in Bruce bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

The Joker nearly lost himself in that first thrust- too perfect, too hot and tight. He had to bite his tongue, too hold his breath and not move for a moment, though he knew time was dwindling away.

_Five minutes_.

He withdrew, pushed into him again, tried to be gentler than his Bat had been with him nights before. He wanted Brucie to come back, after all, as well. The thought of two glorious men coming to court him with bruises and delicious fucks made him shiver and thrust harder, his cock brushing along all the nerves inside Bruce, making him push up, back, whimper for more despite the burn, the intense feeling of invasion.

The Joker reached down, grasping Bruce’s cock again and stroking, and Bruce shook, tipping his head back. The clown wish he could be in two places at once- behind Bruce to impale that delicious ass- and in front, to attack and ravage that exposed throat. His free hand reached out, grabbed onto his shoulder to steady him, the Joker’s breath coming ragged now, his chest heaving- mostly with the restraint to not end it all in that moment.

Bruce supported himself partially up on one arm, the other reaching out, hand clutching into the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. This hadn’t been what he planned _at all_ \- and he should be terrified, rageful, ashamed, a mix of so many emotions.

He was none of them. He was hungry- lusting and needing and delirious. He pushed back against every thrust, at the same time trying to drive into the hand that stroked him with long, chilled fingers. The Joker seemed cold everywhere except his cock- and that could be from the friction, from Bruce’s own warmth. When hie arm would touch Bruce’s back it was like ice. Was he always that cold?

The Joker gritted his teeth. _Three. Minutes._ He wanted to last forever- but he’d have to rely on the hope of another visit. He stroked faster, hand gripping Bruce tighter, driving in with all the force in his lithe body. Bruce moaned and cried out quietly and writhed around, until he heard the Joker in a breathy whisper,

“C’mon sugar, just _come_ for me.”

Bruce would be sure later that nothing on this Earth could have kept him from listening. He arched and moaned- a strangled cry in his throat but never leaving- his body nearly convulsing around the Joker as he shot onto the table, the Joker’s hand tightening almost painfully around him. _Almost_.

The Joker gave in then, head tipping back as his groans turned into giggles and he came, riding out Bruce’s orgasm with his own. He pulled away when he was sure he had nothing left, tucking himself back into his pants while he watched Bruce tremble.

“You’ve got less than two minutes to get dressed and save face, cupcake.”

Bruce, despite his body aching deliciously- despite wanting to lay there and enjoy the afterglow- moved with haste. The Joker leaned his hip on the table and watched him fix his pants, hunt around for his shirt. He smirked, knowing Bruce would be reminded when he was leaving of the fuck- when the Joker’s essence made itself present.

Bruce was buttoning his shirt, eyes bearing into the Joker- dark and still hungry. Deliciously so. Grinning, making sure he had those yes on him, the Joker turned and leaned down, letting his tongue drag along the table and clean up the little mess Bruce had left behind. The playboy’s cheeks turned a beautiful rosy pink, and the Joker licked his lips- salty and bitter and just _oh-so right_.

He settled down into his seat, jerking his head towards Bruce’s. “Thirty seconds, dar-ling.” Bruce walked over, his sweat balled up in his hands. He looked at it, then tossed it across the table, onto the Joker’s lap.

“Take it. You’re freezing.”

The Joker raised one quizzical eyebrow, his fingers sinking into the soft, plush fabric. He smiled- an honest smile, and slipped it on- assuming Bruce would have something to say to the guards who he knew would appear in

_Ten. Nine. Eight._

Bruce sat down, leaned back, seemed relaxed, and a moment later the door was opening.

“Mister Wayne, your time is up.”

“Of course.” He stood up, ran his hands over his shirt to remove a few wrinkles. He eyed the Joker, and only the madman saw the quake in those eyes, the desire, and the devious glimmer for all they’d gotten away with. “Thank you for your time, Joker.”

“My _pleasure_ , sugar,” he said, grinning. The guards led Bruce away, before a few stepped in to cuff him and take him back to his own cell. He held his hands up and let them, head light and eyes heavy with afterglow. As they led him to his cell he held hi hands up, pressed his face into the arm of the sweater. The fabric smelled heavily of Bruce’s cologne- though not unpleasant at all, and beneath it that natural scent- musky and alluring and somewhat familiar.

That made the Joker frown. He knew it- he knew it from _somewhere_.

They shoved him into his cell and locked the door. He walked over to his tiny cot, laying down under the thin blanket he was allowed, and realized he _was_ freezing. That forced shower they had given him had put a chill in his bones, and it wasn’t like anything the state issued him would actually keep him warm.

Suddenly the sweater was such a sweet gift the Joker could gag. He nuzzled it instead, closed his eyes, pictured that sweet creature pressed into that table, arching for him. He breathed in that scent again, and suddenly it wasn’t Bruce he was seeing, it was that masked face, shoving him into the padding on the wall, on the floor- shoving apart sensitive flesh and invading violently, deliciously.

His eyes cracked open in the dim light, and he _knew_. That was where he’s smelled it before- buried under Kevlar and muscle and rage. On the big bad Bat.

He giggled, fingers plucking at the fabric. Oh, this was just _too_ perfect. He’d seen his Bat’s other mask- and a pretty mask it was- and he’d given himself so wantonly, as if the Joker wouldn’t find out it was him. _What is that big bad boy thinking? Fuck my brains out one night and come back and let me do it days later?_ He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again.

He’d simply have to ask his Bat what was going on in that cave of his. And soon, sooner than he was sure either he or his sweet counterpart Bruce would come back.

It was time to check out early.

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a side note, I go with the "Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth" theory that the Joker is not crazy- but beyond hyper sensitive. A great graphic novel, I recommend it!


End file.
